She pulled her fingers back up and rubbed faster, her free hand flat on the mattress, her breathing ragged and uneven. She thought about Lizanne’s blue eyes up close. She thought about being the thing Lizanne couldn’t hold her composure against.
She came quietly, hips stuttering, teeth pressed together.
Lizanne’s name stayed exactly where it belonged. She wasn’t going to say it out loud. She had that much left.
The ceiling came back. The room came back.
Then the guilt arrived, right on schedule. Lizanne was engaged. To a woman she’d been with for years. The woman paying her to plan a wedding that Rose had just used as the raw material for a fantasy.
She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
She still had her jacket on. She took it off, hung it on the chair, went to the bathroom and washed her face. In the mirror she looked younger than she wanted to and more tired than she could afford. The purple lipstick was completely gone. Without it she just looked like herself, which wasn’t always a comfort.
Once she’d changed into her shorts and sleep shirt, she curled up in bed the way she always did.
She was just beginning to drift into a fitful sleep when the sharp, aggressive buzz of her phone on the nightstand jolted her awake. Adrenaline spiked through her system. She fumbled for the device, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Kayla.
“Rose! Oh my goodness, are you awake?” Kayla’s voice was a frantic stage-whisper.
“I am now,” Rose rasped, sitting up and pushing her hair out of her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Since when do you have A-list celebrities commenting on your Facebook? And I thought nobody was supposed to know about your fake wedding?”
Rose’s stomach did a slow, sickening roll. “What are you talking about?”
“Check your Facebook!”
Rose hung up and opened Instagram, her breath catching in her throat.
She opened her page and there, Lizanne had written: “Thanks for the awesome day planning my wedding. I’m so excited to learn more about yours and Derek’s! Bring him next time!” It was on her Facebook page for all to see. So far, she’d created dummy accounts for Instagram and Facebook, with wedding stuff. She’d even bought fake follows to make them look real. It was those she’d shared with Lizanne when she’d asked. She hadn’t expected her to show up on her personal page.
No. No, no, no.
Beneath Lizanne’s comment, the floodgates had opened. Her local followers, former classmates, and even a few rival vendors were pouncing.“Wedding? Rose, you’re engaged?!”“Who is he? Why the secrecy, girl?”“Wait, is she getting married at the same time as Lizanne? That’s wild!”
The panic was a physical thing now—a cold, sharp blade twisting in her chest. This was the one variable she hadn’t accounted for.
Her thumb hovered over the screen. If she deleted it, she looked like she was hiding something. If she left it, the questions would become a roar. She hitDelete. The comment vanished, but the anxiety didn’t. What if Lizanne saw she’d deleted it?
It was done now, anyway. Rose couldn’t go back to sleep. She opened her laptop, the glow illuminating the dark room. She dove into her emails, looking for anything to anchor her.
There was a progress shot from the ironworkers for the wedding canopy. It was magnificent—an intricate, arched structure that would soon be dripping in white wisteria and silk. It was a masterpiece, and it was for a woman Rose could never have.
Finally, Rose stood up and walked down the hall to the small bedroom at the end. She pushed the door open an inch.
Daisy was a small, quiet mound under her blankets. The nightlight cast a soft amber glow over the room. Tucked tightly under Daisy’s arm was a small, faded bunny.
Rose leaned against the doorframe, her heart aching. That bunny was the only thing Daisy’s father had ever given her—a cheap, drugstore toy sent in a box with no return address six months after he’d walked out on them. Daisy didn’t know the truth; she just knew it was her favorite. Rose had never told her, afraid that knowing the truth would hurt more than the silence.
I’m doing this for her,Rose reminded herself. The lies, the fake fiancé, the grueling hours—it was all to ensure that this room stayed safe. That Daisy never had to feel the cold of a world that didn’t have a place for them.
She closed the door softly and went back to bed, staring at the ceiling as the first hints of dawn began to gray the edges of the curtains. Six weeks. She just had to survive six weeks.
Chapter 9
Lizanne
